


I Guess I Go a Little Crazy, Too

by thecarlysutra



Series: Iceman Kazansky's Family Tree is Missing Some Branches, But He Turned Out Okay [2]
Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't Ask Don't Tell, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Future Fic, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Secret Relationship, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 07:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: SUMMARY:A sequel toThe Wall (All My Armor Falling Down), but not the one I meant to write. It's 1997, Maverick and Iceman have moved with TOPGUN to Fallon, Nevada, and Ice's father is making an unexpected visit into their lives.





	I Guess I Go a Little Crazy, Too

  
Maverick had been holding onto it for as long as he could, looking for the best time to let it out. He failed. They were getting ready for bed, and it just burst out of his mouth. 

"I've got to tell you something you're not going to want to hear." 

Ice looked at him through the doorway to the bathroom, which stood open as Ice attended to his nightly hygiene rituals. 

"You're straight," he guessed. Maverick didn't even give him an annoyed look, so Ice stopped what he was doing and came over to sit next to him on the bed. 

"Okay," he said. "I'm listening." 

"We've got a Vice Admiral coming to take a look at the facility." 

Ice frowned. "Isn't this a work conversation?" 

"Vice Admiral Robert Kazansky," Maverick said. "Is—is that your dad, Ice?" 

He could tell by looking at him that he had guessed right. Ice had gone still, gone pale, his eyes the kind of glassy unfocused as when he got hit by a PTSD trigger out of nowhere. 

"He probably won't even know you're there," Maverick said. "It's a big facility, and there's no reason for you guys to see each other." 

Ice was still frozen. Maverick didn't even know if he'd heard him. 

"Ice…" 

"When?" he asked, his tone strangely detached. 

"Thursday. End of the week." 

"Okay," Ice said. He sounded a bit out of breath. "Okay. Thanks for the warning, Maverick." 

"Yeah, of course, man. Are you okay?" 

"Me?" Ice asked. "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?" 

He walked around to lay down on his side of the bed, his business in the bathroom unfinished. Maverick frowned, but he didn't push. He switched off the light, and lay down next to Ice, hoping proximity would be enough to comfort him, since he didn't have a clue as to what to say. 

***

Ice's side of the bed was empty when Maverick woke up. The bathroom was empty, too. Maverick frowned, and walked through the house looking for him. He heard Ice speaking in the kitchen, and he paused just outside the doorway. Ice was still in his pajamas, pacing the tile floor with the cordless phone to his ear. 

"That's not an option," he said. A pause. Then: "No, it's not an option for _me_ , Sasha. The Navy doesn't give a shit if I take a personal day, but if I turn tail and run at the mention of his name, I won't be able to look at myself in the mirror." 

Sasha was Ice's big sister. Maverick was glad he'd called her. She was endlessly loving to and supportive of Ice, but she didn't let him get away with any shit. She'd know what to say better than Maverick did. 

"I don't know," Ice said. A pause. Then: "I'd rather be boiled alive, Sasha." Pause. "No. Absolutely not. The last thing you should do is come down here and put yourself in the line of fire. I'm used to it. I spend my life keeping myself out of target lock." Pause. "No. I'm not going to get myself in any trouble. You don't have to worry about that. He's not worth it." Pause. "That sounds like a pretty serious meltdown going on back there, Sasha. Go help your kid. I'll be fine." Pause. "Yeah. I'll let you know how it goes. I love you, too. Bye." 

***

Maverick and Iceman lay on their backs in the poolside chaises on Ice's covered porch, looking at the stars through the screens. 

"Cassiopeia," Ice said, and pointed, tracing the shape of the constellation with his forefinger so Maverick could find it, too. 

They were quiet for a few minutes while Maverick looked. 

"Uh, Lyra? I think," Maverick said, and pointed. 

Ice smiled. "Yeah. Nice one, Maverick." 

The sky was so much clearer here than in San Diego, and they could see so many more stars. Ice had bought a book about the constellations, something low stress and low stakes they could do together. 

Maverick turned to look at him. He was looking up, his golden brown skin cast silvery in the moonlight. His expression was one of focus, but also calm. Maverick hated to ruin it, but he had to ask. 

"Decide what you're going to do about your dad, Ice?" 

"Nothing." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Just that. I'm not going to change my life a millimeter just because by some weird coincidence we're in the same zip code for a day. He doesn't care about me. He's never cared about me. Why should I care about him? Even—even if I'm just letting him get a reaction from me, that's too much. That's more than he deserves from me." He pointed. "There, Mav, look. Sagittarius."

***

Vice Admiral Kazansky walked through the halls of NAWDC, attended by a chattering captain pointing out this and that. He visited a lot of different installations, and honestly, they were all about the same. 

After a while, something the captain said caught his attention. 

"We have a Commander Kazansky over at TOPGUN. Thomas Kazansky. Is he a relation of yours?" 

Well. How about that? "He's my son." 

"Oh! He must be happy you're here." 

"He doesn't know," the admiral said. The captain looked taken aback, so he added, "Not exactly sporting to warn him about an upcoming inspection of his installation, is it? Even if he is my son."

"Oh, no sir. You're right about that. And he's—I don't know him well, sir, but he seems like a _play by the rules_ sort." 

The admiral nodded. "Let's save TOPGUN for last, shall we? That way I can waste an extra moment with him."

"Very good, sir." 

The captain chattered on, but the admiral let it fade into the background. He hadn't seen his son in a very long time. He'd gone to live with his sister at 16, and the admiral hadn't seen him in person since the day he left. The last time they communicated at all was when the boy graduated from Annapolis. The admiral had sent him a letter that said, "Did you graduate? Are you being deployed?" Thomas had written, "Yes" on the bottom of the letter and mailed it back. 

The admiral figured Thomas had everything he needed, an education and a career in front of him, and he hadn't reached out again. 

Still. It would be interesting to see how he'd grown up. What kind of man he was. 

It was late afternoon by the time they made their way to TOPGUN. 

The captain explained about the program. The admiral nodded, trying to hide his distaste. "Pilots," he sighed.

They came across an office with Thomas's name on it, but it was empty. 

"Who's in charge here?" the admiral asked. 

Which is how Maverick ended up meeting him. Captain Foster entered his office at the side of an officer in dress whites. Maverick rose to meet them, scanning the insignia on the white dress uniform. Three stars. Ice's dad. Shit. 

"Commander Mitchell," Captain Foster said, "this is Admiral Kazansky." 

Maverick saluted. 

"At ease, Commander," the admiral said. "Captain, I've enjoyed your presentation, but I think Commander Mitchell and I can manage. He'll show me around, and he can see me out." 

"It was my pleasure, Admiral," Foster said, and left them alone. 

Maverick looked at the admiral. He could see a little of Ice in him, but not much. They were both big men, tall and broad, and Ice had definitely inherited his old man's jawline. But that was it. The admiral was dark and severe, different from Ice in coloring and bearing. Even when Maverick first met Ice, he had come across as aloof, maybe, and a little snotty, but he wasn't scary. Ice's father was scary. 

"How can I help you, sir?" Maverick asked. "Would you like a tour of the campus?" 

"I'd like to know where my son is." 

"He's teaching." 

"In a plane?" 

"No, sir, no hops today. He's in a classroom. On the ground." 

"I'd like to see him, Commander. Lead the way." The admiral, Maverick imagined, could see him hesitate, and that was why he added, "That is a direct order, Commander." 

Maverick gritted his teeth, but he did as he was told. "This way, Admiral." 

Maverick led him down to the classrooms. He saw Ice's face through the window in the door, stern and focused, and his gut twisted. 

"Class is still in session," Maverick said, "so maybe we should just—" 

"I'd like to see him teach," the admiral said. "I'm sure we can observe without interrupting, can't we, Commander?" 

Shit. "Uh, yes, sir." 

Maverick opened the door to Ice's classroom, and he and the admiral took up spots against the back wall. 

Ice was standing at the front of the classroom, leaning against the desk, which Maverick knew meant his leg was giving him hell. His cane was propped up next to him, lending credence to the theory. When the door opened, Ice's eyes went right to the movement. When he registered the faces looking back at him, he was still for a moment, jaw set. But it was only a moment, and then he went right on teaching like nothing had interrupted him. 

"Who can tell me the appropriate response to the scenario I've just outlined? No one? Flash, your maneuver, please." 

The student stiffened. "I didn't raise my hand, sir." 

"I am aware of that, Lieutenant. Would you like to open the discussion on why you're not participating in my class, or would you like to answer my question?" 

The student shrank down a bit. "Um, Immelmann turn?" 

"No. Panther, your maneuver, please." 

"Split S?"

"Even worse. Anyone? Magpie. Your maneuver, please." 

They were seeing more and more women pilots at TOPGUN, but they were still rare. Magpie was the only one in this class. 

"Defensive spiral, sir?" she said. 

"That is correct. Good work, Lieutenant. Please speak up next time." 

"Yes, sir, Commander."

Ice checked his watch. He looked back at the men in the doorway. 

"All right. Apparently the brass wants to see me, so we're going to break early. Keep your heads in the game. Most of you are going to have to work magic in the air tomorrow to make up for your performance in class today. Dismissed." 

The students filed out. Ice stayed at the head of the classroom until they'd all gone, and then he picked up his cane and walked to the door. Maverick followed the admiral over to him. 

“Commander Mitchell,” Ice said. “Admiral.”

The admiral looked at him for a long moment. Finally: “No salute?”

Ice’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t take his eyes off the man as he slowly moved the cane to his left hand, and then raised his right in salute. He held it for a brief moment then dropped it, and then moved his cane back to his right hand, put some of his weight on it.

“What’s that for?” the admiral asked.

“You asked me to.”

“The cane, Commander.” 

“It helps me walk.” The admiral was looking at him, a hard look, and Ice relented. “I was shot down in ’93.”

“The Gulf?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you’re here? Teaching and flying drills instead of serving your country?”

“That’s one of the reasons.”

The admiral nodded in a curt way. He looked at Ice’s uniform. “Still a commander. You’re, what, now, thirty-eight? You’re at least a promotion behind.”

“I’m thirty-six,” Ice said sharply. “Captain’s rank offered and declined. It would take me out of a plane and put me in charge of a bunch of administrative bullshit. I have no interest in spending all day, every day giving orders and making sure my ship’s in shape. All I want to do is fly.” Maverick noticed him clenching his fist and then unclenching it slowly, which was one of the exercises his therapist had given him to deal with overwhelming negative emotions. “Would you please move? You’re blocking the door.”

“I haven’t dismissed you, yet,” the admiral said.

“So dismiss me.” 

Maverick watched them lock gazes for a long moment. He thought of bulls locking horns. He didn’t know much about Vice Admiral Kazansky, but his money was on Ice. 

He was right. Finally, the admiral gave a nod. “You’re dismissed, Commander.”

He moved aside, but not enough for Ice to get through the door. Ice ignored it, pushing himself past, knocking shoulders with him. He was almost out the door when the admiral turned after him, asked, “Are you still—?”

Ice paused in the doorway.

“A fag?” he asked brusquely. “Yup. There’s not actually a cure for that. And, because I know you just forgot to ask, Sasha’s doing great. You have two grandchildren, by the way. May want to make a note of it.”

He turned sharply and moved down the hall as quickly as his reliance on the cane allowed him to. Maverick started after him, but the admiral said, “Commander Mitchell. I believe you were going to show me out.”

Ice stopped. He turned. Looked at Maverick. His expression softened. “It’s okay, Pete. Don’t do something stupid on account of me.”

He forced a small smile, then turned and kept walking away from them. Maverick sighed. He straightened his spine, and looked back to the admiral. “Right this way, sir.”

Maverick walked the admiral to reception. “Ensign,” he said, and the kid behind the desk stood at attention, “please call for Admiral Kazansky’s car.”

“Yes, sir,” the kid said, and went to the phones.

The admiral looked around. “You can leave me here, Commander Mitchell. Thank you for your assistance.”

“Yes, sir,” Maverick said, and turned to leave.

“Mitchell,” the admiral said in a softer voice than Maverick had heard him use the entire time he’d been in his presence, and Maverick turned to look at him. “Commander Kazansky. Is he a good pilot?”

Maverick smiled. He couldn’t help himself. “He’s the best pilot I’ve ever seen.”

The admiral nodded. “Thank you, Commander. Dismissed.”

Maverick turned and walked down the hall, hoping he could catch Ice before he left the base.

The admiral stood at reception. He looked over at the ensign, and then something behind the kid caught his eye. Banks of filing cabinets.

“Have you got personnel files somewhere back there, Ensign?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“Show me.”

The admiral came around the long counter, followed the ensign to the cabinets indicated.

“Can I help you find something, Admiral?”

“No, thank you, Ensign. I’m conducting an inspection here at your base; I’m just inspecting your filing system.”

“Very good, sir,” the ensign said, and stepped away.

The admiral flipped through the files until he came up with the one he was after. KAZANSKY, THOMAS. CALL SIGN: ICEMAN. The admiral frowned. Wondered where that had come from. He found what he was looking for on the first page, below the boy’s birthdate. (He _was_ thirty-six. Hmm.) ADDRESS: 1902 SPANISH SAHARA DRIVE. It was an off base address; it didn’t take any mental gymnastics to realize why Thomas wouldn’t want to live on base. The admiral crammed the file back into the cabinet, and went to find his driver. His town car was idling in front of the entrance. His driver opened the door for him, and the admiral sat back and waited for the man to get back behind the wheel.

“Back to the hotel, sir?”

“No,” the admiral said. “There's a stop I’d like to make first.” 

***

Ice's car was gone by the time Maverick got to the parking lot. He hopped on his motorcycle and drove to Ice's place. His car was in the garage; Maverick parked next to it, and went inside. 

Ice was stretched out on the living room couch with the heating pad on his bad leg. He smiled when Maverick came in. 

"Hey," he said. 

"Hey," Maverick said. "I thought your leg was giving you trouble today. Did you take something for it?" 

"No. I'm doing the heat. Maybe I'll take a pill before bed so it doesn't keep me up." 

Maverick knelt in front of him. "Ice, I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have told him where you were, but he gave me a direct order—" 

"It's okay. I'm glad you're not being court martialed because of me." He ran his fingers through Maverick's hair, and Maverick looked at his face. He looked tired, maybe, but not worked up. Almost calm. 

"What's up with you?" 

Ice shrugged. "I mean—it's over. It sucked, but it could have been so much worse, and now it's done, and we can go back to never talking." 

Maverick rested his head on Ice's chest. "I've been so worried about you, Tom." 

Ice stroked his hair. "I'm okay, Maverick. There's nothing to worry about." 

There was a knock on the door. 

"Can you get that?" Ice asked. "I ordered us some Chinese." 

"Yeah, I got it. Don't move; I want you to lay there resting your leg until it's time to go to bed, and then I might carry you down the hall." 

Ice chuckled. "So chivalrous. How'd I get so lucky?" 

Maverick's clever rejoinder was lost in his throat as he opened the door. It was not the delivery guy. 

The admiral coughed out a sharp, ugly laugh. "Commander Mitchell. I see. You're the real reason he's here, aren't you?" 

Maverick flushed. "You can't be here. He doesn't want to see you. Ever." 

"That isn't up to you." 

"The hell it isn't. I'll fight tooth and nail to keep him safe. To keep him from getting hurt. We aren't on the base now, Admiral, and we're not on duty. Don't think I won't take a swing at you."

Maverick heard slow, halting steps behind him, and he winced. Shit. 

"Mav," Ice said, "what's—?" A long pause. Then: "You have got to be fucking kidding me." 

The admiral looked at Ice, looking past Maverick like he wasn't even standing there. "I'd like to come in." 

Maverick felt Ice crowd his back. 

"No," he said. "Not only no, but hell no. This is private property. _My_ private property. Leave, or I’m calling the police.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“I don't care what you want anymore," Ice said. "Maverick, shut the door." 

The admiral stuck his foot in, keeping the door from closing. He pushed past Maverick, stood inches from Ice. 

"Nice place," the admiral said. "You two have a cute little thing going on, playing soldier during the day, playing house at night." 

Ice looked sick. Maverick knew what he was thinking: _He could tell them. He could tell the brass, and we'll lose our wings._

"What do you want?" Ice asked, and he sounded so tired. So resigned. 

"Fuck it," Maverick said. He pushed past Ice, stepped up to the admiral, and delivered a hard, cracking punch to his jaw. 

The force of the blow knocked him back. He stumbled. Maverick heard Ice gasp, but he didn't look back; he kept his eyes on Ice's father, and he kept his body between him and Ice. 

The admiral righted himself, one hand braced on the door. 

"I could end you, Mitchell," he said. "It wouldn't even be hard." 

Maverick felt a cold sweat come over him. But he stood his ground, hands still balled into fists in case he needed to sock the guy again. 

"No," Ice said, and his voice was strong. He pushed past Maverick, laying a hand on his shoulder as he walked by, a quick gesture that said, _I've got this._ "You're not taking anything from me ever again. And Commander Mitchell is part of that. Sasha still has those x-rays, you know. If you make any move against me, or against Commander Mitchell, I will do everything in my power to strip everything you love out of your life, and I will start by sending those x-rays and a detailed exposition to the press and the Pentagon. If that doesn't do it, fine. I will go on national television, and I will tell them that I'm your son and that I'm queer. Everyone will know. You'll never be able to pretend it away again."

"You wouldn't do that," the admiral said. "They'll ground you." 

Ice steeled his jaw. "Try me. You don't know anything about me. I would do anything to protect him, okay? That's what you do when you love someone. I know you've never experienced it for yourself, so I thought I'd explain it to you. Stay away from him. Stay away from me. Let's go back to our detente. Or push me, and see what happens." He opened the door, nodded towards the exit. 

"Dismissed," Ice said. 

Vice Admiral Robert Kazansky took the out that he was given. Ice shut the door behind him, and then he turned his back to it. He leaned back against the door, looked at Maverick. 

"My fucking leg is killing me," he said, and laughed. 

***

Maverick sat at the kitchen table while Ice took a pill for his leg and prepared a bag of ice for Maverick's hand. He limped over to the table, sat down in the chair next to him. He took Maverick's right hand carefully, and laid the ice atop it, holding it gently in place. 

"How's that feel?" 

"Good, Ice. Thanks." 

"That was so stupid, Maverick." 

Maverick cupped Ice's cheek with his left hand. "I go a little crazy when someone's hurting you, I guess." 

"It's okay," Ice said softly. Then, with a grin: "I can't wait to tell Sasha you punched our dad in the face." 

"I mean, she already likes me…" 

"She loves you," Ice said. Then, softer: "I love you." 

"You took a pretty big risk today, too, Kazansky. All on account of me?" 

"Yeah," Ice said. "I guess I go a little crazy, too." 

"What a pair we are." 

"Yeah," Ice said, and smiled.  



End file.
